Chapter 53
The ride back to Hartman’s is mostly silent. Magnolia and I exchange a few mumbles about meeting back at her house before
I exit her vehicle and head to my own. I think we’ve both run out of words and are in some degree of shock.
I’m grateful it’s only a short drive back to her house, and she waits in the driveway for me.
“I’m takin’ to bed,” Magnolia announces as soon as we cross the threshold.
I know that means she’ll disappear for the rest of the day and possibly even for tomorrow.
“Fair enough,” I tell her.
This leaves me alone in my mother’s house, restless but not yet ready to go home. Despite the bombshells and despite the immovable
facts, I’m struck by the feeling that this is not done. That whatever whim of the universe planted me here on this day to
see truth rained down isn’t finished.
The day replays in my mind on a loop, and it’s then I remember: The cleaner mentioned something. She recognized my name. She
said there might be something for me.
Perhaps it’s the final piece.
Before I leave, I call Grady. He picks up right away.
“You get Hal ok and everything?” I ask.
“Yup, all good here.” Grady sounds upbeat, so I know his mother hasn’t gotten to him yet.
“Great,” I say. “Just so you know, I’m in Beaufort—in case anything comes up. I have a whole bunch to fill you in on, but
the headline is that our families are on the outs. The grown-ups are, at least.”
“Yikes, that sounds like a conversation I’ll need a drink for,” he says.
“A double. I’ll keep you posted.”
I hang up and hop in the car. I feel more grounded after hearing Grady’s voice; it’s a reminder that I have my own life outside
this Beaufort circus I stumbled into today. It makes me think of Hallie and my house with the softest waffle blankets and
of Lincoln next door. It reminds me of my little studio still tucked back on my favorite Charleston street. It reminds me
of Fitz and Henry, their mighty friendship that’s wrapped and covered me in every storm.
It reminds me that Exquisite Interiors likes us enough to let us shoot a full season.
From here, my life in Charleston looks so wide and deep and like every one of the dreams I made up as a little girl in this
waterside town.
I roll down the windows and let the salty coastal air rush in. It feels like company in this moment. I weave around the streets I learned to drive on and through my favorite downtown strip. I can’t help but let some of the memories of my childhood creep in, and to my surprise, there are good ones too. I remember Magnolia taking me to the Christmas tree lighting and letting me get both popcorn and ice cream, even though it froze my fingers off. I remember Magnolia quizzing me for my social studies tests—the ones I struggled with most. I remember her driving me to a horse-riding camp forty-five minutes away for two weeks in the summer.
Eventually I pull into Hartman Landscape, park, and climb out of the car.
Of all this heartache, I think the worst part is missing out on knowing Theo. With everything that’s happened, I’m certain
Magnolia’s parents were wrong about him. That the things they said about him weren’t true, that my mother knew best.
I scan the parking lot as I walk toward the building, and a small sedan is still parked here. When I turn back to the office,
I see the cleaner inside through the window. She spots me, too, and hurries over to push open the door.
“You’re back,” she says.
“You’re still here,” I say.
“Home isn’t a great place for me.” She averts her eyes. “I’m working this job to pay for my college classes so I can get my
own place. Mr. Theo always let me hang out in the break room after my shift to do homework.” She gulps. “I kinda figured he
wouldn’t mind if I kept it up.”
I manage a small smile. “From what I’ve seen and heard, it sounds like he’d be glad.”
“Was there something you needed?” she asks kindly. Her eyes stop on me, a question lingering in them. “Do you want to come
in? I’m Karina, by the way.”
“Yes, Karina, thank you. I’m Mack—but maybe you already know that? I’m Theo’s daughter.”
She nods, and I follow her into the building, through the short hallway, to the entrance of an office. There we stop. The office is basic. There’s a large wooden desk with a cracked leather desk chair. A small bookshelf sits alongside the singular window, and the spines upon it are predictable—landscaping, soil science, accounting, an Excel handbook. I search for framed photos, evidence of a wife, kids, or grandkids, but I find none.
“Was this Theo’s office?” I ask.
Karina’s eyes turn watery. “It was. I didn’t know what to do—whether to clean it or leave it. Part of me didn’t feel right
cleaning it, like it’d be removing the last signs of him. But eventually I decided to go in and at least tidy up. Someone’s
going to have to deal with the bills and payroll at some point.”
“I get it,” I say.
“It’s the last impressions he left on the world,” Karina says.
I nod, but all I can think about is that the final impression he made on me would wipe out any discarded coffee cup or scratched-out
paperwork in a tidal wave. “May I?”
Karina motions me in. “I found some letters on his desk, a few of them. I didn’t really read them once I realized they seemed
super personal—and important. But it wasn’t until I heard your name that I realized I could actually get them in the hands
of the person they were meant for.”
My heart speeds up. Letters for me? From him? All I can manage is a frantic nod.
“I know today’s been a lot already. If now is too much, I can hold on to them for as long as you need.” Karina walks slowly
to the desk and picks up a few neatly stacked sheets of paper. She looks back at me with a tight, optimistic smile. “They’re
yours.”
I’m at her side in a flash, still nodding frantically. “Yes, I want them.”
She hands the stack to me. “I’ll be in the break room. Take as long as you want.”
My hands shake slightly as I hold the words of my father, and I drop into his desk chair. The arms are marked with snaking cracks, but underneath me it feels soft, the cushioning still comfortable. It feels good, though slightly intrusive, to sit where he sat. A yearning kicks in deep inside to know him, to talk to him.
I look down, and my pulse stutters at the two words handwritten neatly at the top: Dear Mack.